


every moment's relevent (bittersweet and delicate)

by vivelapluto



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: M/M, a one shot with two parts that i published together, also ye its Angsty, but i swear the endings sof, ft victor being Emo as Fuck, its a one shot, its meant to be canon era but tbh its vague enough where that really doesnt matter?, well kind of a two shot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 19:17:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivelapluto/pseuds/vivelapluto
Summary: tomorrow may not come again / tonight is all there is / (if this is all there is), or victor, losing himself to forces darker than himself, and henry, who tries to pull him back towards the light





	every moment's relevent (bittersweet and delicate)

**i. feeling solo / thinking of jumping soon**

Victor awakens to screams he knows are not real.

  
He grabs the sheets in fistfuls, trying to ignore the near-blinding frustration as his hands come up empty. 

  
Always, always empty.

  
He’s forgotten the windows are open, so caught up in the nebulous haze of his own dreams and thoughts that the cool night breeze that rustles the curtains, lifting the slightly matted locks of his dark hair, has him on edge.

  
Shivers run down his spine that have little to do with the cold.

  
Victor makes his way across the room, his fine-boned hands grasping the curtains as if to draw them shut.

  
He pauses. Chilling as the night air might be, it offers some sort of company, allowing Victor to feel it against his skin. And the numbness helps him forget, however ephemeral it may be.

  
So instead, Victor lights a candle. 

  
He watches the flame, resisting the urge to toss it out of the window and watch the world burn. For then his company would be not just a lilting breeze but the inferno itself. 

  
He ponders this as he watches the shadows cast by the candle dance against the elegant wallpaper, stretching out past the window.

  
Ingolstadt, his dream, this sanctuary—he should relish in this, for it is far more than most could ever imagine having. 

Everything Victor cares about, carefully preserved in this place.

  
This gilded cage.

  
Victor picks up the candle. 

  
His hands, always so precise — a carefully scripted note here, a twist of the knife there — tremble.

  
All in one careless, harried breath, he blows it out a beat later.

  
Gasping for air, Victor watches the tendrils of smoke curl and twist before fading away.

  
He ends up binding the curtains anyway, as the next breeze is far to brisk for his liking. Besides, he stays in the confines of this house for a reason.   
  


Because Victor knows better than anyone that this world is a dark and dangerous place.

  
  
**ii. eyes closed, i see your face / breathe deep and hesitate**

His studies at Ingolstadt are what have kept Victor’s blood running through her veins, what has kept him from losing hope, losing sanity, losing whatever shreds of himself that he has left.

But that doesn’t mean he likes it.

That doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t twist every time he ponders for too long on the reality of what he’s doing.

Victor is deteriorating, from the inside out. Spiraling into oblivion.

And Henry knows.

He does not speak of it; he knows the last thing Victor will ever do is admit weakness.

But one night Victor cannot stop the steady flow of tears, hot as they pour from him along with messy, heavy breaths.

And that night Henry wordlessly finds his way towards him, gently taking Victor’s hands from where they’re pressed against his eyes, and holding them to his chest.

Victor can feel Henry’s heartbeat, steady and unfaltering.

He wonders how something so strong, so unyielding, can be stopped in an instant.

Just like that.

Henry’s dark eyes are wide. His words are a but a whisper, but to Victor they sound like a shout. Jarring, shaking him to his very core.

“It’s okay,” Henry breathes, “to let yourself feel. To let yourself forget.”

But it’s not, it can never be. To forget what he has done, what he has lost, the life being chipped from him every day — the very idea seems unfathomable. 

“It’s okay,” Henry says again, and this time, it sounds more like a question.

Victor’s eyes flutter shut; he’s not sure why.

Then he feels a feather-light touch against his ear, brushing back a stray lock of hair, he feels the same hand cup his cheek, softly, as though Victor is made of glass, prone to shatter at any given moment —

And then Henry’s lips brush against his own, the taste of him mingling with the salt from his tears for a moment before overpowering them.

Victor’s eyes fly open.

Henry pulls back, his own gaze averted. 

“It’s okay,” Victor echoes, as he tips his head forward.

He finds Henry once more, and then there are no tears, no blood, no loss, no heartbreak.

There is only him and Henry — his fingers twined in his hair, the unwavering thrum of his heartbeat, the soft, cautious way his lips move against Victor’s — a moment to forget, a moment to feel, with only the stars to bear witness.

Victor lets himself live, truly live, as he holds Henry and wonders how on earth he’ll ever find the willpower to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> so um yeah my random switch to the gothic lit fandom is entirely my boyfriend's fault, love him forever though <3. i'm so sorry if you follow me for enjoltaire but i promise im working on the elementary au! and also that the next chapter of the davenzi tbdate au will be posted in the next month. yeah my update schedule's been basically nonexistent and a disaster and i'm sorry but also i hope u like this fic!!


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